


Speaking softly

by Rhododendroves



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Graves is still a minupulative asshole, Hurt/Comfort, In a world where we collectively hallucinated Johnny Depp, M/M, but he is an asshole with a weakness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8623708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhododendroves/pseuds/Rhododendroves
Summary: A fever, and a small lapse in judgement.





	

It started snowing again by the time Graves reached the street he was to meet Credence in. Gusts of wind made off-white snowflakes throw themselves at the face and in the collar of every man and woman fool enough to be outside. He tugged at his own collar, suppressing a shiver, and walked quicker, trying to keep his anticipation at bay. It was easier said than done, though. He had not seen Credence in nearly a week now, kept away by pressing matters for the Magical Congress, and the perspective of seeing the boy was... Doing something to him. Thrill of soon finding the Obscuria he sought, most likely. Or so he told himself. 

 

Credence, as usual, was already there when Graves reached the dirty alleyway that was their point of rendez-vous. The slouched figure was leaning heavily on the frame of a planked-shut porch, hands in the pockets of his mangy coat, trying to blend with the décor as much as he could. 

"Hello, Credence" he greeted as he reached him. 

The white face shoot up in his direction, startled first, but Graves extended soothing hands in his direction, talking as one did with horses, low and patient.

"It's me, it's okay, look." Credence relaxed then, smiling minutely before casting his head down again with a shiver. 

"H-hi." Credence said back with a slight delay. 

He seemed even more fretful than ordinary, not daring to look at him, rigidly standing still. It has been the longest separation since they started meeting in dark alleys, maybe that has something to do with it. He was looking so miserable. Always did, really, and against his better judgement, it brought out the protective side inside Graves. He wanted to draw him into a hug, to reassure him. To take him from his "mother" who didn't deserve that sweet a boy. This was ridiculous, he scorned himself. He was useful. A useful miserable sod. Sigh. He closed in on Credence, plunging him in his shadow of authority and confidence, and asked, very low.

"So. Did you find anything in my absence ?" Did you miss me ? 

The boy looked up at him again. Being cornered like that always seemed to ground him, made him look nearly in his eyes - there was nowhere else to look, really. But he started shivering intensely, backing up against the rusted planks, trying to manage an answer but stuttering like a broken clock.

"I-I...I, w-well I-I th-think I've... I-I th-think th-that..." 

"Hey, hey," Graves took the sides of the boy's head in his hands, losing the fight against himself, to bring his face up, attempting to sooth, "it's okay, you-..." 

He was very warm under his palms, clammy and shivering. Blotches of white and blue painted his brow and under-eyes, stark against his cheeks reddened by the cold. he looked worst than usual, and that was something. Graves felt a surge of worry shooting alarmingly strong in his chest.

"You're burning up. How long did you wait for me ? Come here." The boy didn't struggle a lot when he brought him against his chest, but then, he never did. He smelled of cold sweat, dirt, hearth ashes and rancid grease. It was repulsive. Still he kept him close, trying to wrestle him out of his shivers and the stutters he was spilling again.

"It's-I-It's nothing," Credence finally managed to say, face squished against Graves' shoulder, "just cold, -"

"You're not cold, you have a fever. And you reek. What happened ?"

Credence cowered in fear against him, sniffling shakily like a child after a tantrum that had a hard time settling down, and said nothing else. Graves felt his temper flare. He was sick to his bones but he was still trying to trivialize his condition. He always did. Didn't he trust him by now ? He seized the boy's arms forcefully, detaching him from his chest, and shook him.

"Don't do that, Credence ! What happened ? What did she do ?"

The boy was crying in earnest now, adding another livid color to his waxy face, smearing snot on the sleeves of his coat in an attempt at sweeping his nose. When Graves straightened up he recoiled like he feared punishment, and that calmed down the wizard's anger, just a bit, just enough to sigh and take his low, soothing voice again. 

"It's okay... It's all right. Here." A cotton handkerchief with ugly patterns appeared from nothing and he dabbed at his face, as gently as he could. "Stop crying. Listen... Would.. Would you come back home with me ? I'll make you hot cocoa and, um, draw you a bath. Does that sound good ?"

Disbelief. That... That was not what he was going to say. It was stupid to bring him back with him. That was a terrible lapse in judgement. But when Credence started stuttering about how his mother would notice his absence and how he'll be punished, he didn't take it back. 

"Don't worry about her. I'll deal with her. You know I can. She won't notice. I swear." he added, lifting Credence's chin with a hand to convey trust with his gaze, and a small paternal -he hoped, that was not his forte- smile. The boy nodded then, shakily, red faced and weirdly looking hopeful. He seemed exhausted. 

"All right, okay. Good boy. Don't panic, that'll shake." And they Apparated away. 

 

-

 

It had taken quite a while and a lot of coddling before Credence shook off the shock of first-time Apparating. Now he was bundled up in a thick blanket on his couch, coat, hat and scarf lying on the floor in a disgusting heap. He had stopped crying and was very silent, ill at ease in the magical cosiness of his MACULA-appointed apartment. Graves had excused himself and was now busy putting together a cup of cocoa the No-Maj way, in the hopes of not startling his boy further. The only sound was the collection of glass magic chess pieces that bickered gently on a display cabinet in a corner and the sound of gas from the stove. He switched it off and poured hot milk in the cup. He could have done it with water, but he had the feeling that warm milk was needed. Once again, this was a parasitic though, unwelcome and grating his nerves. All that nonsense was putting his objectives further back. The boy should be amongst the street urchins looking for his black sheep, not dozing off on his couch at 7PM. 

Still, there was milk in the cup and he brought it to Credence very quietly. The heat of the fireplace had put back normal colors on his face, but his eyes were still quite sunken and dark. In the light he was looking quite scruffy, sooth smeared on his forehead and dirty hair. A bath would do him good. A wave of his wand started the pipes in the bathroom, shaking Credence off his fever-induced haze. Graves smiled, passing him the cup and sitting beside him on the couch. He took a long gulp, shivered, eyes fluttering shut at the intake of rich and sugary beverage, and that did something to Graves' chest. A violent bout of possessiveness. He exhaled minutely. 

"Are you all right ?" 

The young man nodded between gulps, draining the cup in minutes. the heat of it gave him red cheeks and moist eyes, and Graves couldn't help the hand he drew across Credence's neck, long fingers tickling the short clipped hair there. It didn't help that Credence seemed to drink in every gesture of affection, so starved for human contact in his sordid house of horrors he couldn't seem to help himself. That kind of innocent languor was... Reminded him that he was not so much a boy as a young, neglected man that could use some human warmth. He had planned to do just that to gain his trust. That had just sort of backfired. 

"You're still quite feverish," he said, like the diagnostic could justify the lingering touch. Credence was not-looking-at-him intently, very still except for the slight angling of his neck, granting him access. Graves wanted to take his hand back. He played with the fine strands instead.

"Mind telling me what happened ?"

"She... I dropped - um, plates. And she... I had to sleep outside."

As if on cue, the grandfather clock started to chime right as he ended his sentence, startling him into standing up and making him spill the last drops of cocoa on the blanket.

"I have to go, it's dinner, she'll wonder where I've been ! She's g-"

"Shhh- It's all right." Graves stood up in turn, taking the cup from the shaky hands and putting it back on a nearby tea table. "It's all right." A large hand on the small of Credence back coaxed him toward the bathroom, where billows of steam were pouring out of the tub. "You just take a bath, I'll deal with her. I'll make her forget that you're in her charge for a while. Okay ?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to do that ?"

"..." Graves sighed, pushing a large bath sponge in his palm and avoiding to look at the already vapor-wet Credence. "Yeah well don't worry about that. Just... Wash."

He disappeared with a plop before the boy could protest further. 

 

-

 

It was true, though. If he wanted to avoid close scrutiny of the MACULA he should refrain from tempering with that woman's brain. But Credence was already in his bathtub (well he hoped) by now, and that was a little too late for a plan B. Still, that could gain him a new level of trust with the boy, seeing him break the law for him. And he was of no use in his state, barely awake and sick as a dog. He could very well die of this bout if he were to stay in neglect at the hands of that crone. A little bit of abuse was mandatory for Graves to keep Credence in his clutches, lured by trust, physical closeness and lack of punishment if he were to fail. He had to stay at the New Salem Orphanage, for now. The promise of taking him away from this place was a strong incentive. But he couldn't afford his death. 

 

He was outside the church, listening to Mary Lou Barebone fret and ask Credence's sisters after him. Implanting the lie that she had asked the boy to spend the night watching one particular house in the hopes of witnessing witchcraft was easy. She dropped the subject with a hushed "ah, yes, I remember... " and the girls were too glad to escape a punishment to insist. For good measure, he instilled some remorse for having the boy sleep outside, in the hope that she would not try to kill him of hypothermia again. 

 

He was greeted back home by the moist clingy heat and the clean scent typical of someone who had not shut the door of the bathroom behind him. Sure enough, the cold mirror in the hallway was perspiring with droplets, and the ancient wood floor was glistening. Credence was waiting for him back on the couch, bangs in disarray, in the clothes he had left him : a too-large wife beater and tartan pyjama pants with drawstrings that clung low on his frame. He looked more composed than Graves had ever seen him. The bath seemed to have grounded him nicely. He looked at him directly in the eye as Graves hanged his coat on a peg and approached. he was so bony it hurt to look at, long ragged scars on his arms and shoulders witnesses of past abuses. Still, he was quite a sight. 

As Graves made his way toward the living room, he got up and approached. Still slouching quit a bit, and seeming less and less sure of himself as he drew closer to Graves. He had quite alluring almond-shaped eyes, well defined and so very dark, Graves noticed for the first time, just before he looked back down, head on a side. It was, he was beggining to learn, his "I'd like a hug" attitude. He opened his arms and the boy huddled close, chin on his shoulder, with a small exhausted sound. His hair was wet under Graves' hand, his skin has cooled down a bit and smelled of his soap, which was quite the unsettling experience. A long, bone-wrecking shiver ran all the way up his spin when the boy dragged his smooth cheek against his own. It was a very small movement, that could have been almost accidental were it not for the breath intake that came with it and stayed between them, inarticulate plea. Graves closed his eyes, every fibre of his being pulled toward the warm lean body against it's own with unimaginable strength. They were close enough, he reasoned, Credence trusted him enough, there was no use compromising himself by allowing more. Beside the traffic noises outside, there was virtually no sound in the flat, but their breath, in each other's neck, were cacophonous to Graves. He gripped the back of his head firmly, trailing his large hand down toward his neck, up the side of his face. His jaw was so soft where he trailed his face, the shivers he drew out of him terribly intoxicating. He wanted to protect him against everything, he wanted to ruin him, disassemble him piece by piece with his bare hands and rebuild him entirely his. And oh, how the small movement of Credence's head, turning up toward his seemed to allow all of that. He was so very close now, Graves noted looking at him under heavy lids, the boy's lips slightly parted in emotion, in abandon, gaze still cast unassumingly low. 

At long last he kissed him in earnest, open-mouthed but reverent, and Credence seemed to come back to life under his mouth, answering with force. He felt everything the young man poured in between them, his trust, his hopes, his strength in the face of the shitty situation he was in, his world, really, narrowed down to a single point of tension between them, and their palms that clung to each other's faces. The resolution of weeks of agitated tension, unassuming tease, that were not supposed to go farther. For a while Graves forgot everything about his scheme, his plans, allowed himself a long while of poor judgement. 

The hands that clung to him felt very heavy suddenly and he broke off their kiss. Credence was very pale under his bright red cheeks, eyes humid, burning up again, his fever coming back with a vengeance, it would seem. Struggling to catch his breath he almost smiled, chasing off the strands plastered to his forehead.

"Right. You need rest. Come." 

Credence let himself be dragged toward his bedroom set in darkness. Graves let him settle himself deep in the bed, stacking the cocoa-stained blanket in addition to the covers. He took the time to kiss him again, a hand on his forehead, the thrill of that novelty not quite gone yet, and took upon himself to let him rest, half asleep already that he was.

 

He shut the bedroom door behind him, contemplating his vacant drawing room. A long sigh. Tomorrow when the fever will break, he'll deal with Credence. For now he had work to do, and things to ignore.

**Author's Note:**

> My non-native speaking ass is sorry for all mistakes past present and future.


End file.
